From page 119– Ian tried earnestly to withdraw into the world of meditation in the hope of alleviating
both his pain and his cancer. I hoped he would seize the opportunity to
unload his issues with Meares, but that did not eventuate. Apparently, personal
past issues were not part of the protocol of his program. Rather than encourage
Ian to express and discuss the issues surrounding his illness and amputation, the
program was that meditation, that is the silence and the stillness, would dissolve
all conflict, whatever its source, thus bringing about peace of mind. Weeks went
by. The dietary machine pushed onwards while the meditation machine worked
harder trying to find peace and pain relief. Both of us became extremely frustrated.
Ian grew jaded because he just could not make it with the meditation, finding it
harder and harder as his pain increased and his energy waned. My experience was
the frustration of running on a treadmill against time, spending my life attached
to a juicing machine, excessive driving, living with the rigours of Ian’s unrelenting
pain and sleep deprivation.
However, despite all, strangely, I had a sixth sense that he would recover, but our
positive signs began to look decidedly shaky as we struggled on through the weeks.
Pat was always there if I needed someone to talk to who understood, but despite all
my proactive pursuits and reading, I still felt like a ship without a rudder. My other
frustration was personal. After all, I was supposed to have a life too, but while Ian
remained focussed on his peaceful recovery pursuits, I was on the endless treadmill
just trying to keep the show on the road. I don’t think that Meares appreciated
what was going on behind the scenes for his cancer patients, as I know others also
in his group, felt the stress of trying to do everything right, as if their life depended
on it and according to Meares, subtly it did. Impending death can be a great motivator,
but trying to survive has a counterpart of always wondering if right enough
is good enough. The wheels began to fall off our healing machine when Ian began
to lose weight rapidly. The Gerson diet had been very low in protein and despite
some warnings about lack of rest; Ian continued to do too much for someone in
his frail and compromised condition.

In the heat of summer, with one leg and a secondary tumour in his groin, he
began to dig our own vegetable patch. Meanwhile, I would bring out juice after
juice and then start preparing another. For hours in the afternoon he would sit on
a cushion, small spade in hand, thumping the parched earth until it cracked under
his persistent blows. Perhaps the gardening was helpful for anger management,
but his rapid weight loss and persistent backache was to become his Achilles heel
for some time. His discomfort levels increased daily, which in turn, caused him to
become even more frustrated, particularly as the pain worsened and began to take
control.
“What did Meares say?” I would ask.
“He says that I just need to keep meditating and I will have a breakthrough. I
just need to get better at it!”
When we began the meditation with Meares, I drove while Ian sat next to me in
the passenger seat. One month later, he was in so much pain that he had to lie on
a mattress in the back of the car just to attend sessions. As you can imagine, I was
becoming impatient with this theory that everything must get worse in order to
get better—it was becoming too bloody hard! It was a huge emotional challenge to
live with someone in so much pain. I was sleep-deprived, as the pain seemed to get
worse at night. Some nights we could only manage two or three hours sleep, with
both of us eventually dropping off out of sheer exhaustion. Clearly, things were
deteriorating rapidly. Something more was needed.